A Woodcarver's Tale

It was like looking through the wrong end of those scopes that sea captains use to view objects from far away. 

Squinting a bit, I observed myself stumbling toward a set of twin stones. 

At first I was confused, but it was gradually coming back to me, all the pain and sadness; and in great waves it threatened to engulphed me. 

I closed my eyes and her smiling face wavered tantalizingly before me. She was asking me to leave my work for a moment and come see what the little one was doing. 

Watching as I entered our cottage, he was hitching himself around on our sparse furnishings, but he had come to the end, and there was nothing else for him to grab onto. 

Faced with turning back or dropping to the floor and crawling away, he looked up. Seeing me, he let go, and without a thought, began to toddle toward me. 

He took a tentative step or two, then faltered. I moved forward to catch his fall, only to have the vision fade, as smoke fades when it drifts too far from its source. 

But it had seemed so real. What was wrong with me I wondered— was I dreaming? 

It was like watching myself from a distance. Several years had passed, and I was kneeling before the graves of my wife and young son, weighed down by weariness as one by one, people in black walked past, murmuring their condolences. 

There I was, the second time in as many months, watching as they shoveled earth over the grave of my wife. Taken from me by the same sickness that had claimed our little boy just weeks before. 

Feeling the full weight of it, I cried out, “How can I go on?” I wanted to die and go with them, but death refused to claim me. 

Like a spectator at a show, I watched through that telescopic lens of memory, as I spent the next few years plodding through my day-to-day existence: for it was little more than that. 

       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A strange watery sensation disturbed the picture, ebbing back and forth, the sound of it interrupting my reflections. 

I couldn’t quite make sense of it. My head felt oddly large and thick, as though I had had too much to drink. 

Back and forth I drifted, in and out of consciousness. Unable to control it, I sank back into my visions.

In my loneliness I had begun spending my afternoons watching the village children play, and decided one day to carve a puppet for their entertainment.

I had never attempted anything so intricate before. Most of what I did were practical things. Furniture, spoons, and bowls and such. Things people needed because I had needed to make a living for my family. But I didn’t have a family anymore, so I decided to indulge my current need for connection. 

Over time I made a family of puppets to entertain the children on their way home from school. 

They were happy with my little shows, but those puppets were rough; unpolished. I knew I could do better. So, I undertook to make a new puppet.

Deliberately and carefully I worked, little by little the head taking shape. I carved the arms, body, and legs. All of these pieces I put together with a series of strings. I even made a little set of clothes for it instead of merely draping material around the body as I had done with the others. 

It is a masterpiece, I thought, holding it up and examining it from every angle. A little boy, who in a vague sort of way resembled my own little Peppino. 

I sat him on a shelf and began talking to him as I went about my days. I know this may seem strange, but I had gotten into the way of talking to myself, and this seemed a better option.

One day I was talking to my little puppet boy, when I thought to myself, If you are to be my family now, you should have a name. 

My first thought was to name him after my little Peppino, but that didn’t seem right somehow. 

I thought and thought, then my eyes rested upon the wood shavings left over from when I had finished him.

“Pinocchio!” I exclaimed out loud. “My little wooden boy. Of course, that is the perfect name for you.”

But as much as I loved having this little reminder of my son, it wasn’t the same as having a real child.

I remember sitting at my window one night, looking out at the stars with a heartache so real it hurt, and then it happened. 

Even now I almost cannot believe it happened. But it did!

At first I thought I must have fallen asleep and that I was dreaming, but no… little by little one of the stars was growing bigger and brighter until the light filled my little cottage. 

Then, the light grew smaller, revealing the figure of a woman, dressed in a blue gown. And the light, which I had taken for a star, drew itself into a tiny radiant orb, held in her hand. 

I was entranced by that light, wondering who she was, and then she spoke.

“Good Geppetto,” she began, “you are sad and lonely, and grieve the loss of your wife and little boy, yet you give so much joy to others.”

I lowered my head, overwhelmed that she not only knew my name, but my heart as well.

“I cannot give your loved ones back to you,” she continued, “they are waiting for you in a better place. But they miss you also, and want you to be happy.”

“So much goodness must be rewarded,” she said, walking over to the shelf. She took down my little puppet boy and placed him on the chair. 

I wondered what she was doing, but I sat as if bound by a spell, and could do or say nothing. 

Then, touching her light to the puppet’s head she spoke. “Little puppet made of pine, awake, the gift of life is thine.” *

The light suddenly grew again, nearly blinding me with its unearthly brightness. And in that light I heard her speak, but not to me.

“Little Pinocchio,” she said, “I have given you life. You are to be a light and joy to your father Geppetto, and one day if you can prove yourself to be brave, true, and unselfish, perhaps someday you will be a real boy.”  

I squinted into the light, trying to see what was happening, for it was all so strange. 

Then, without warning, she was gone, and in her place sat my little puppet boy, moving his hands back and forth, his eyes alive with discovery.

I feared I was going mad. My isolation was playing tricks on me. But then, he started edging his way off the chair and the next thing I knew he had fallen on the floor in a heap.

He began to cry, and I suppose my fatherly instincts took over because the next thing I knew I was picking him up.

“Don’t cry,” I told him as I cuddled him to my chest, “it’s alright now, I’m here.”

Getting onto my bed, I rocked him gently as his tears fell onto my shirtfront. 

“Poor little Pinocchio,” I murmured as the rocking sensation overtook me, and once more I was aware of being someplace else. 

But this time, when I opened my eyes, it was more real, and less like a dream. 

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This time the dampness was no longer merely an odd sensation, it was real. I was wet, very wet, and water was lapping over me in a gentle rocking motion. 

My head still felt heavy, I was having difficulty putting my thoughts together, and I ached all over. 

Where was I, and what was happening? 

 Raising myself up gingerly on one elbow, I looked around, astonished to find myself on a beach of some sort. I was drenched, and the tide was washing in on my legs. 

Bits of broken wood lay all around me, and a hazy memory fought its way into my jumbled thoughts. I had been on a boat, yes, and we had been overturned by a whale. 

I had not been alone, however. Someone had been with me. But who? Why was I having so much trouble remembering?

My head was aching. Reaching up I touched a large sticky welt, and realized I must have hit my head, which would explain my scattered thoughts and my earlier mental wanderings. 

I got up slowly, very slowly, as dizziness threatened to send me back into my illusions. Picking up one of the slimmer pieces of wood, and using it as a cane to steady myself, I began picking my way through the debris— looking.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, only that I would know it when I found it. 

Stopping to catch my breath I caught a glimpse of something red in a tide pool.

“NO!” I cried, memory washing over me like a tidal wave. "Pinocchio!

I limped over to him as quickly as I was able, scooped him up in my arms, weeping, as there were no signs of life left in him.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all came back to me as I slowly carried him to the nearest village. 

When the whale had overturned our boat, I was hit in the head by a piece of the wreckage. I nearly lost consciousness, and had no strength left to save myself. 

It was Pinocchio who dragged me onto the wood planking, and using another piece of wood, had worked tirelessly to get us to shore.

Cradling Pinocchio in my arms I found a ride back to our village on a passing wagon. 

The wagon was loaded with barrels of fish, heading to the market. On any other day, I would have found the smell overwhelming, but this day, I hardly noticed.

We had a long way to go, but my mind was already drifting back in time.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From the very first day, Pinocchio had been a loving child, but very mischievous. 

I tried to keep him busy, but every time I turned around his curiosity was landing him in trouble. 

He needed an outlet for all of that energy, but what.

I thought of school, but I really had no idea how old he was. And I was concerned that he might not be accepted by others because he was different.

When I was carving him, I was thinking of my little Peppino and how old he would have been if he had lived. So, I guessed Pinocchio might be around 8 years old.

Yes, I thought. He really ought to be in school. 

I dressed him in clothing that covered his joints. Thankfully the paint I had used when making him had been very close in coloring to my own skin tone, and it covered the grain of the wood remarkably well.

I started taking him out into the village more so that people would get used to seeing him. When anyone asked where he had come from, I repeated a story that he was my nephew, and that I was raising him after his parents had died. 

I didn’t like lying, but what was I supposed to say. I carved him out of wood and a fairy brought him to life. Sometimes the truth is too much for the mind to take in. 

Pinocchio didn’t remember how he came to me, so the story worked well for everyone.

For the first week of school everything seemed to be going well. Then I received my first note from the schoolmaster. It seemed that Pinocchio had been cutting class and going off with some older boys from town.

Confronting him I asked, “Did you go to school today?”

“Yes Father,” he had replied.

“But I received a note from the headmaster that you were not present,” I countered.

He innocently went on to tell me that he did go to school, but then left with some boys who said they would take him someplace fun.

He clearly didn’t realize that a half-truth was still a lie, so I had to sit him down and explain. 

Remembering my story of his origin, I felt like such a hypocrite.

What a challenge it was raising this little innocent by myself, and how I wished that my wife and son had been there to help me. 

Sighing, I looked down at his lifeless form and gathered him in close.

His most recent infraction, the one that had landed us on a boat, had been the most egregious yet. 

Geppetto recalled the pain he had felt on finding Pinocchio at a carnival with a group of hoodlums from a neighboring town. 

He had been smoking and drinking, and was in a most deplorable state for a young boy, and Geppetto remembered being very angry, grabbing Pinocchio by the arm, and dragging him away, scolding him fiercely, with an overwhelming sense of fear he had never experienced before. 

“How could you be so disrespectful?” he remembered yelling at him. "Those boys don't care about you. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn't found you."

Geppetto heaved a long heavy sigh, Pinocchio had been silent, not even trying to defend himself, and he regretted his harsh words now.

They were a long way from home, he recalled, and the afternoon was getting on. He had decided to rent a small boat so they could travel back faster.

Geppetto knew he didn't have much experience with the boats, but had figured on not going too far out.

If they followed the shoreline, they'd be safe enough, but he hadn’t counted on the storm that was brewing a few miles off the coast and the huge waves that swept them out to sea. As they struggle to control the boat, they were still able to see the shore but now they were in much more dangerous waters. 

A small whale had been pushing against the waves also, and in the gathering darkness they had collided with him. This had broken up the boat, and while the whale wasn’t badly injured, it had been frightened, and it began thrashing about, stirring up the water

and sending parts of the boat flying. 

It was then that he had been injured, and as the whale swam away, Geppetto knew he would never going to make it. This had saddened him, but his first thought was for his boy.

Pinocchio was was bobbing about on the surface like a cork, and Geppetto urged him to swim to safety, but Pinocchio had fashioned a makeshift raft out of pieces of the boat instead and managing to get his father half onto it, had got them to shore.

By this time Geppetto was only semi-conscious and didn't see Pinocchio fall exhausted, face down in the tide pool.

"My brave little boy," Geppetto murmured sadly.

It was at this moment that he realized he had been speaking out loud, and looking up self-consciously he saw the fisherman watching him with a wary eye.

It must have seemed very strange for the man, but he asked no questions, and Geppetto said nothing, except to thank him for his kindness.

Leaving them at the edge of the village, the man drove on and Geppetto walked the last bit of his journey to the cottage alone. Gently laying Pinocchio on the bed, knelt beside him, and wept bitterly.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without hearing a sound, he sensed her presence, and lifted his head. Though unable to discern her form, because of the brightness of the light that surrounded her, he heard her voice clearly, filling the room.

“Geppetto,” she said, “you have been a good father, and Pinocchio you have proved yourself to be a good son. 

The center of the light seemed to rest on both of them as she continued. “Arise Pinocchio, you have earned your reward.”

Eyes fluttering open, Pinocchio sat up on the bed. As the light faded away, Geppetto rubbed is eyes in disbelief. The jointed elbows and knees were gone, and wooden limbs had been replaced with human flesh.

“Pinocchio!” Geppetto gasped, hugging him close, “My son, why did you do it?” 

Pinocchio looked confused. 

“I told you to save yourself.”

“But Father,” he cried, “I love you. I could not leave you.”

Later that afternoon, Geppetto took Pinocchio to the grave yard and showed him were his wife and their first son were buried.

He want him to know and love them as he did, so that when they were all reunited one day, they would be a family.

*Quote from The Disney film - Pinocchio 1940